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 Posted: Mon Jul 19, 2010 11:29 am
t o u c h ✖ of ✖ d e s t i n y
Featuring. . . .
Fiero - played by to the S T A G E
Alex - played by This Charade
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Posted: Wed Jul 21, 2010 11:04 pm
 Keyblade
xxxxxxxxxxKeyblade
xxxxxKeyblade
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxKeyblade Colorful stained glass and darkness.
Fiero scuffed his boot against the platform, not trusting the silence nor the emptiness around him. His hand was at his hip, where one of his cutlasses dangled. He pushed the gray bandana on his forehead back so he could see, and strands of his dark hair fell across his face. A voice drifted through the silence, though made now sound. There were words in his head, merely placed there for him to see in his mind's eye. There was no voice, only quiet anticipation.
The shadows came from beneath the glass, twitching and skitting about like ants around him. He drew his swords and killed them easily, but still more came. Fiero knew what they were seeking; he knew they weren't leaving without a glimpse of his hidden Key. He set his jaw and destroyed them even more relentlessly, but still they came, seeming to join together and grow even bigger with every one he finished off.
Before long. . . .
An enormous shadow rose above him, eyes yellow and empty. Even Fiero was stuck in the silence. 'Is this what you want?' His lips moved but the quiet reigned. The shadow tilted its head. Fiero called it to his hand, the strange and magnificent blade that he could call upon at will. The shadow advanced towards him, and Fiero hurled the Key at the black monster. 'Then take it!' It sliced through the shadow's arm, which fell and dispated when it hit the stained glass.
The first real sound, the Key clattering to the floor, stung Fiero's ears, and the shadow loomed over him still. Its huge clawed hand reached for him, and he rolled out of the way, circling it with drawn cutlasses. The shadow grabbed for him once more, and Fiero slashed and sliced at it, black droplets falling to the glass and covering the stained glass. The darkness pulled him down, and no matter how much he struggled, he couldn't break free of the black mass.
He was sinking. . . falling. . . dying-
". . .Cruz! S'yer watch. Up, you!"
Now awake, Fiero sat up, breathless, and he rolled out of his bunk. Shrugging on his coat, he mulled over his seventh strange dream in a row. There was always that damn Key involved. He took his place in the nest, and when he was sure there was nothing around him but the night air, Fiero thought of the Key being warm in his hand-
It appeared there in a flash of silver, and almost immediately after, Fiero willed it away. Under his breath, he murmured, "Maldita llave. . . ."
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Posted: Thu Sep 23, 2010 8:47 pm
Keyblade. . .
xxxxxxxxxxKeyblade. . .
xxxxxKeyblade. . .
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxKeyblade. . . For the first time in two weeks, Fiero did not dream of shadows nor beautiful colored glass.
In a small boat, he sailed along foggy water without paddles nor sails. The rowboat seemed to be pulled along by an invisible string. Silent villagers, candles in their hands, waded in the water and stared after Fiero as he moved closer to a rickity-looking shack. He couldn't look them in the eyes for long, and instead watched the house as it loomed closer. The area was swampy, and the house was built perfectly into and on top of the trees.
When the boat reached the tiny dock, Fiero vaulted onto the wood, and grabbed ahold of the weak-looking ladder leading to the home lit by candles and moonlight. He did not know why, but the shack drew him in. He had to go in. He just had to. Climbing the rungs of the ladder effortlessly, Fiero brushed loose strands of dark hair back into his bandana and pulled himself onto the porch of the house.
Without hesitation, he reached for the doorknob and twisted; it was open. Fiero swung the door open but didn't step through. The room inside seemed to be from another world. Candles were perched wherever they could fit, and jars containing strange and unfamiliar things hung from the ceiling. A tree grew right through the floor, upon which a long and thin yellow-white reptilian creature hung. Fiero had never seen such a thing before, and instinctively, he placed a hand at a dagger concealed at his belt.
"There is no need for that," a gritty, heavily-accented voice coaxed, and Fiero finally noticed the dark-skinned woman standing behind a small table. Her mouth and eyes were blackened, and strange markings decorated her cheeks and chin. She smiled, and her teeth were just as dark as her lips.
She bade him come forward with a twitch of her index finger, and he follow the silent request. The woman was undeniably alluring, Fiero could not deny it, and obeying her seemed like the most natural and obvious thing in the world. Delight playing in her mischevous smile, the woman took Fiero's hand between both of hers and traced a line along the thickest vein.
"You have a touch of destiny about you..." she murmured, the words coming out leisurely, and Fiero's brow creased; her accent was incredibly difficult to decipher, but no matter how much he wished to speak, he could say nothing.
She looked up at him, her smile returning as her eyes gleamed again, dangerously beautiful. "...Fiero Cruz." The woman seemed to love the way the name rolled off her tongue, and she chuckled, her long nails tracing designs against his wrist.
The Keyblader inhaled to say something, but quick as lightning, her hand went to his mouth, ever so gently quieting him. After a moment, she moved away from him and began to rummage through her many chests and drawers, talking quickly as she went about. "I know about your Keyblade, Fiero," she called over her shoulder, now business-like, and Fiero could do nothing but watch, brow still furrowed.
"And I want to help you, because by helping you, I help myself and all the worlds as well." She soon returned, her hand clasped around a gold chain. Taking his hand, she dropped the shining charm in his open palm, a siren's smile on her black lips.
"So do not disappoint me, Fiero."
In an instant, everything turned to darkness, and Fiero fell.
"All hands on deck, we've hit Tortuga!"
In all honesty, Fiero was less than excited, his mind stuck on his dream. Shaking his head, he muttered, "Que carajo..." Still, he hauled himself up and hurried to ready the ship for port.
Once in town, he avoided the tavern in favor of the blacksmith's, both pleased and disappointed that the owner was absent. In his loneliness, he called his strange weapon to his hand, and he was hardly surprised when he saw that his Keyblade had changed shape.
And the small charm attached below the handle was the pendant he had received from the woman in his dream: a golden skull atop a silver anchor. Fiero's lips twitched, and he almost laughed at the irony, but let the sound die in his throat as he smirked.
"Serve me well, Calavera Dorada.
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Posted: Tue Oct 26, 2010 11:15 pm
 To plant the seed of unease.....
To sow a field of unrest.........................
To reap the fruit of chaos.............................................
The swamp was not the nicest place to be sure, but it was nicer than the bowels of the ship. It was no mystery as to why they called those places "the bowels" they smelled worse than an outhouse. Even the muggy, sulphur-smelling air was better. His guide had taken him to the edge of the tangle of trees and then slicked off, clutching the gold coin Jean-Alexandre had dropped in his hand. He had been a disgusting man and Alex was quite glad to be rid of him.
He enjoyed the solitude of the wooden boat he rode through the thick waters. It was dark behind the veil of trees and Alex could see every camouflaged devotee ducking behind the bushes. They could tell he could see them, too, because they looked nervous, whispering to each other and closing their lanterns. The young Marquis didn't mind one bit, in fact, he enjoyed it a little. He smirked to himself and he pushed towards the cabin at the heart of the bayou.
He reached up and caught the ladder with his right hand, pulling himself up the ladder. Once on the platform, he unrolled the cuffs on his black slacks until the rose just below his bare ankles and feet. His button down black shirt was rolled up to his sleeves and complimented by a white cravat, secured with a small onyx brooch. He cracked his fingers against each other and pushed the door open.
"Bonjour, Mer Mamie" he said, ducking a jar of what looked like human eyeball. An albino python hissed from the corner.
A woman looked up from a desk where she seemed to have been mixing some kind of spice. "Not often I get yo kind he'e, Marquis." She smiled, showing a mouth of black stained teeth.
"I'm looking for someone, Mamie, a boy with a key. You know him, I'm sure."
She rose and glided around the desk and a myriad of jars, up to him. Her finger traced his cheekbone, up to his eyes. She smelt of sea salt. "You are a special one, child." She melted away from him and towards a jar on the wall, which she plucked out of its spot with wave-like grace. "To see t'ru da dark wit da darkness."
"You need not tell me of myself, Mama." He watched her closely, wavering the the flicker of the the many candles.
"But ya seek a key. Why do ya need anoder one, child?" She knew the answer, of course, and Alex wasn't going to play that game.
"He's on a ship. Which one, and where is it headed." He didn't speak it like a question, rather, like a demand.
Her smile widened. "A wise one, ah?" She uncorked the bottle, and it looked as if something squirmed inside before she put it to her lips and took a deep sip. "Dey go where dey go, where dey all go."
"Tortuga" Alex whispered under his breath. It was a retched place, and one that catered to an even more wretched sort. Alex was a much of a pirate as anyone, what with taking things that weren't his and stirring up chaos, but he did it with class. And hygiene. "Thank you, Mamie." He slipped a vile out from his pocket and perched it on the tips of his forefinger and thumb. "As payment."
She floated over and snatched the small glass container up, rubbing it between her fingers. "You a sweet boy, Alex. Come back again, maybe." Alex nodded. "He go by Fiero Cruz. A pretty face, he have. You'll know."
Alex bowed he head in thanks and turned to go. He made it back to the door before the sea witch added: "Don't go makin' to much of a mess around he'e, ya little dark one. It all fun and games 'til someone or someting loses a heart." Alex paused, but did not turn. After a split second, he went out of the small hut and back into the night. 
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Posted: Sun Nov 07, 2010 2:49 am
To plant the seed of unease.....
To sow a field of unrest.........................
To reap the fruit of chaos.............................................
The small boat was waiting for the young Marquis as he descended the ladder. It was a curious thing about this swamp, that only these small, rickety boats could get you there. Alex had other ways of traveling, normally, but here, he had to pay some scum to lead him to the entrance, then row himself up the marsh. He pushed slowly back out with a stick, pushing against the submerged plants.
It was curiosity that had called Alex to this world, as opposed to boredom. It had been a curiosity strong enough to pull him away from a rather lucrative scheme. Two nobles fighting over the death of a shared lover. It was a classic plot, but an amusing one, none the less. He had to remember to check on how it played out without him playing puppeteer. But meeting another boy with a keyblade was too good of an opportunity to pass up. A keyblade was too powerful a thing to be left alone, to the will of the worlds or of others. It was a pot he wanted his chips in.
The swamp cleared into the open ocean and a fresh, salty breeze hit Alex's face. He pulled off to a beach and got out of the rickety boat carefully. He was not raised on the sea and travel by boat was not a particularly pleasant experience for him, but he managed to fair better than most "land-lubbers" as the pirates called them. By better, he meant he could hide the fact that the voyage as a whole made him sick to his stomach. If not the rocking of the waves, the lack of a proper sense of hygiene would do it. He was thankful that fate had provided him other ways of getting to Tortuga.
Once safely on the sand, Alex placed the boat back where he had picked it up and removed a bag from it's hiding spot amount the roughage. A noblemen like himself would look much to out of place in a place like Tortuga to go without a disguise of some kind. He unfastened his cravat and unbuttoned his quality shirt, pocketing the gem from the first placing them inside the sack. It was cold, so he donned the ragged replacement quickly. The wind whipped the loose fabric of the white shirt against his body. The dark brown vest did precious little to warm him. He hadn't spent the time to get a matching coat for this retched outfit, and he was beginning to regret it. He pulled on the fold-over boots and tried a faded red scarf around his head. In all likelihood, he wouldn't be back for his other bits of clothing, but he hid them in the brush anyway.
Turning out to the sea, Alex took a moment to watch the waves. There was no awe in the size of the ocean for him. He felt no awe in the great expanse of space between the worlds, which put this seemingly infinite body of water to shame. It was a shame he wasn't well versed enough in the wind and the waves to be able to figure out exactly which direction would be looking towards the island of Tortuga, but it made his method of travel easier to determine. Taking aboard another ship was right out, seeing as the only ships heading that way were simply disgusting. Had he been able to navigate the ocean the stars (which were now quite visible overhead) he would have taken his glider. The keyblade glider was a marvelous trick, one he had barely gotten out of his teacher several years ago, but it was rather useless if he couldn't direct it. Tortuga was not the kind of place it would take him to on it's own, even with another keyblader present on the island. That left the darkness.
Alex had no problem with darkness as a force. He had no problem using it and bending it when it suited him, and it would have been a lie to say he hadn't allied with it from time to time. But Alex wasn't stupid. The darkness is naturally attracted to the heart, and darkness never does anything in moderation. The key was a sign that he could take more of it than most, but it was still a volatile substance and Alex was too smart to let it have it's way. As such, he used these handy corridors as little as possible. In this case, though, there didn't seem to be much of another option. With a sigh, he put his black gloved hand out over the ocean and willed the door into the darkness to open.
He stepped out on an empty beach of the island. The noise of the main party reached even there. He was pretty sure there wasn't a place on this island where you couldn't hear that ruckus. It was not somewhere he wanted to be at the moment. There was tons of fun to be had in crowded parties, but the subtlety with which Alexandre worked would be lost in amidst the wanton brawling and insult slinging of the local crowd. Besides, he had a better reason to be here. He would have to check the town at some point if he couldn't find this Fiero Cruz inside, so he might as well start there.
The streets were rather empty and he looked appropriate enough in the dark not to raise to many eyebrows. He turned a corner at what appeared to be an armory of some sort and caught a glimpse of a Shadow Heartless as it pooled into the ground. They'd be looking for the other keyblader, most likely. There were surprisingly little around on this world, which meant that the world was still relatively secured. The heart of the world was likely safe, but there was enough surrounding darkness to draw a few heartless in. That was probably why this Fiero got himself a keyblade.
Just to be safe, Alex summoned his own Hearts Eclipse as he followed the moving puddle of darkness. He watched it turn another corner and meet up with several other Shadows. A Soldier Heartless rattled into existence as well as they headed towards the blacksmiths. What a lucky break. Alex watched from a distance. He had found his Key.
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Posted: Thu Jan 13, 2011 9:36 am
Keyblade. . .
xxxxxxxxxxKeyblade. . .
xxxxxKeyblade. . .
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxKeyblade. . . Stepping out of the empty blacksmith's building with a faint sigh, Fiero rubbed at the back of his neck, struggling to ignore the way his new weapon seemed to fight and struggle to appear. He did not want Calavera Dorada to be his master, especially did not want it to come and go as it pleased. Snorting air out of his nose, Fiero suddenly noticed the little yellow glows in the distance. They would blink in and out as they came closer, and when they were close enough, he saw that they were not lights, but glowing golden eyes attached to wriggling black creatures.
Straightening up his back, Fiero instinctively moved into a defensive stance, his mind racing with the possibilities, with confusion, with concealed fear. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and even as the little beasts came closer, Calavera Dorada continued to bother him. His right hand began to glow with the Keyblade's power, but Fiero doggedly shook it away. "No ahora!" he hissed under his breath, unsheathing one of his just-sharpened cutlasses.
The dozen or so dark creatures reminded him of twitching insects, like ants, but the ants were joined by a slightly larger, armored enemy. The clanking was especially loud on the cobblestone. Fiero did not allow them to surround him. He ran forward, and being the swiftest and youngest of his crew, was slashing into the black creatures within seconds of taking off.
He was expecting blood, at the least, when he stabbed one of the creatures right through the chest and violently pulled the cutlass out, through its head. However, the ant merely dispated in black droplets. Fiero unsheathed his second sword and began to cut through the ants, but their blood did not sully his blades. There was no blood pumping through his enemies, and Fiero vaugely remembered reading a novel describing the way the heart circulated blood through the body.
"Sin corazón," Fiero exhaled as he watched one of the ants dissolve into the floor, following him through his own shadow. No heart. He jumped away and slashed through the black insects with more vigor until there was only the armored one left, which seemed to spasm from side to side until it came cartwheeling towards him.
Unprepared, Fiero ducked at the last second, but his foe knocked one sword from his hand. Almost instantaneously, Calavera Dorada appeared in his free hand, as if accepting an invitation. The flash of light the Keyblade brought made the armored ant shield its face. Scowling, Fiero threw the Keyblade in a careful arc, and the blade spun rapidly, cutting through the last creature effortless.
A pink heart floated up from where the armored insect had been, looking beautifully otherworldly. Fiero caught Calavera Dorada and looked down at it with furrowed brows. How did that last bloodless ant have a heart? And why did the Keyblade release it...? As unanswered questions raced through his thoughts, Fiero made the Keyblade vanish and sheathed his swords, hoping he was dreaming once more.
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Posted: Tue Sep 13, 2011 2:48 pm
To plant the seed of unease.....
To sow a field of unrest.........................
To reap the fruit of chaos.............................................
A slight smirk curled onto the marquis's lips as his watched the other keyblader wielder struggle with his cutlass. His eyes study the scene dispassionately, but his mind catalogued each twitch, each utterance. A remarkable fellow, for sure - a good fighter, clever and intuitive. Spanish was close enough to his native French for him to understand the man - so he had either heard the name of these creatures before or derived their colloquial title all on his own. Though the second was admittedly unlikely, the first make little sense on this isolated world. Alexandre made a note as he watched the fight unfold.
His mind ran through theories, but he pushed them to the background. There was no quieting a mind such as his, only distracting it, and watching Fiero's keyblade spring to his hand was an excellent distraction.
He had obviously gotten here rather early, which is to say that the man he was surreptitiously watching hadn't had much experience with his new keyblade. But he was certainly a natural, if that counted for anything. Alex's teacher had told him that the Keyblades tended not to choose people who weren't naturals at some aspect of the blade's use, be it magic, swordsmanship, or courage. So really, it counted for very little. Still, his method of dispatching of the Soldier had enough flourish to mildly impress.
Alex watched as Fiero gazed at the heart he'd clearly never seen before. The marquis hazarded a guess that he was dealing with a man as superstitious as he was practical. The question remained- how weary was he? Well, now was as good a moment as any to find out.
He dismissed his weapon and recalled how he appeared. Relatively blended in. The shirt and vest shouldn't stand out, his build was appropriate, as was his voice and age. The knowledge required to notice that the tailor of his pants was far to nice for these parts was one no one from these parts would have, so it didn't matter. The boots, judging by the way the rubbed rather uncomfortable against his small toes, were of the same stock as the shirt and vest.
He put a small bounce in his step, a small slouch in his shoulders and a small tip in his head, angling the red bandanna forward. The red had been a conscious choice, as most things the marquis choices are. Red eyes are rarely natural, or so his travels have seemed to indicate, but people have a tendency to assume their own eyes are playing tricks on them when they see Alex by the light of a flame or juxtaposed with something redder.
Likewise, it called attention away from the strands of white that fell out if the bottom of the red fabric. White hair was never unnatural, but it tended to be odd for one of his age. As such, he had become quite the connoisseur of head coverings.
But all of these precautions tended to be unnecessary for brief meetings. People remembered what he wanted them to, and forgot the details the mind found lacking in importance. And Alex was well versed in fooling the mind. Never the less, in this case, his conversation might lag a bit. Besides, his subject today seemed, as he noted earlier, remarkably intuitive.
Now, it would be vastly in error to suppose Alex feared being seen as odd or otherworldly. It merely required a different move. One was not better, one was not worse. Any reaction gave him data, and data was always of interest. Marquis Jean-Alexandre Garnier de Moselle blinked on a persona, and rounded the corner. As he entered into the view of the other man, he started a mental stopwatch.
"Did you see 'em mister?" He said, feigning a convincing exacerbation in a trained accent both appropriately local and lower classes. "Them monsters? Did you see 'em?" He glanced rapidly around the blacksmiths, noting calmly that that one of the shadows had vanished into the ground rather than actually vanished. It was off at the far end of the shop, now. A quick calculation told Alex that any attempt at commanding the little fellow would end poorly right about now, for several reasons.
(His mind knocked off a list: It only worked on rare occasion; he rather not be associated with them quite yet; He didn't know who else of Darkness might be near by; he'd already used a portal- that was far enough Darkness for now; he didn't need to call attention to more.)
His eyes met back with Fiero's. "Are they done now, mister?"
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Posted: Wed Sep 21, 2011 2:52 pm
Keyblade. . .
xxxxxxxxxxKeyblade. . .
xxxxxKeyblade. . .
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxKeyblade. . . Despite the fact that the creatures had gone, Fiero was still tense with the alert awareness required for battle. Carefully balancing his weight on the balls of his feet, ready to pounce in any direction, his body was taut as he lowered his hands to his sides. Slowly, he began to relax, and his shoulders dropped moments after he had tucked his swords away at his hips. However, the sound of approaching footsteps sent him back into a familiar state of prepared and serious caution, and Fiero whirled around to face the newcomer. His right hand went instinctively to the sword at the opposite hip, though the young man that approached him, in a way, left him disappointed. The adrenaline had left him itching for another fight, and this person hardly seemed like a threat.
Dropping his hand back to his side, Fiero straightened up from his slightly-crouched battle-ready posture, forehead wrinkling at the other male's urgent questions. English was of course his second language, though he was still getting used to some of the accents around Port Royal. Deeply accented English was infinitely more difficult to decipher than a clearer English, though luckily this man's voice did not take much figuring out. Reaching up, the dark-haired male rubbed at the back of his neck with a thoughtful frown. "Jes," he answered after a brief, unsure pause, his voice low and a little rough with his Spanish accent. Approaching the other, Fiero only stopped when the other man's features could be made out. "Jes, I saw dhem."
Looking into the other's face, the rogue clasped his hands behind his head, breathing deeply to calm his erratic heartrate from the fight just moments ago. The man was dressed in no remarkable fashion, though Fiero did question whether it was the low light or his fading sanity ( he had to be some kind of crazy to be having those elaborate stained glass dreams ) that made the man's eyes appear red. 'No,' Fiero mused matter-of-factly, 'es imposible.' A red bandana held back the other's hair, in the same fashion that Fiero's dark hair was pulled out of his face with a secure, if not faded, blue bandana.
Returning his focus to the other male, the Keyblader folded his arms with a frown, his brows furrowed as he rolled the question of whether the creatures were finished over in his mind. Finally, he answered, "With hope, dhey are dhone." Waving a hand dismissively, Fiero shook his head and shut his eyes, frown deepening. "Forget about dhem." After a moment of sitting in the dark of his closed eyes, the pirate chanced to open them again, looking at the man and resting a hand at the sheath on his left hip. He wasn't threatened; that was just a comfortable place to have one's hand, especially after being attacked by supernatural creatures.
Frowning with thought, Fiero cocked his head to the side at the man and asked in an eager, though calm manner, "Hefv joo seen dhem before?" His brows furrowed as he spoke, and he tried to be as clear through his accent as possible, pausing in-between his words and enunciating carefully. It wasn't that he assumed the other male an idiot, Fiero was just used to his mates heckling him for his accent. They mockingly joked, 'Ey, Cruz, slow down! Kaen't undahstahnd ya bloody Spain talk' or 'Ey, Cruz, speak English laek thuh rest'a us!' Fiero shook the memory of those gruff voices away, focusing on the man opposite him; his brows furrowed even more. "Dho joo know what dhey are?" he questioned seriously, his gaze intense upon the other.
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